Penny For Your Thoughts?
by ImmaBeatYouWithaCrowbar
Summary: After Soda comes home from the Vietnam War, he decides to visit Steve one last time. "I'm sorry you got drafted." "So am I."


**A/N: I saw so many stories on here about Soda going off to the Vietnam War, so I gave in to temptation and wrote one for myself! I thought that the idea of Darry and Pony finding out was pretty overdone…so instead I did the effects it had on the gang and Steve's thoughts on it! After all, Steve and Soda were best buddies, right? Also, I usually try to avoid writing another story when one of my stories is still on the first page in the category…but, oh well. Anyway, remember, criticism and reviews are always welcome!**

The sun was beginning to set.

Steve didn't know how the fight started. He, Two-Bit, Ponyboy, and Darry had all been in the living room, and the next thing they knew, Ponyboy and Darry were having at it. They did that a lot. Soda had told Steve how they'd promised they'd stop for his sake, and it ate Steve up inside that the instant Soda was gone, they went back on that promise. They even used Soda's absence as an excuse!

Steve lost his temper. He seemed to have been doing a lot of that, too. Next thing he knew, he was screaming himself hoarse at the two. They'd started yelling back, then at each other again. Two-Bit told them to calm down, and then all three had turned on him. Two-Bit was usually too lazy to argue, but boy howdy had he been on his feet in a second hollering back. All four boys were on their own side, sides long forgotten. They felt like they'd been standing in different states, despite the fact that they were all in the same room.

He didn't know how the fight had begun, but he sure as hell knew how it ended. Darry screamed at Ponyboy to go to his room and was obeyed; Two-Bit, ever the idiot, decided to brave the sharks and talk to Darry; and Steve had just stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

That was the way a lot of their hangouts had been going lately. Yelling and yelling and screaming and hollering and some more yelling…Steve was getting sick of it all. His throat was still hoarse.

Right now, he didn't really know where he was walking to. All that he knew was that he was walking, and it felt good to be doing something other than shouting for once. Usually, he liked fighting. It was like a drug to him. Wherever there was a fight, there was Steve, and usually Soda, too, because Soda was just as addicted to fighting as Steve. In fact, most of their hours spent in the slammer were due to beating the daylights out of some people who had decided to pick on them.

Soda…

Steve suddenly needed to sit down. He spied a bench a little further ahead. He jogged up to it, then collapsed onto it. Immediately, he buried his face in his hands, groaning. If only Soda hadn't been drafted into the Vietnam War! America had no place in it anyway, so why the hell were they forcing _kids_ to go? It wasn't right. Unless the war was absolutely necessary, like, say, the Revolutionary War or WWII, then the military should have no right to drag sixteen-year-old kids kicking and screaming towards their deaths - or soon-to-be-fucked-up lives.

If only Soda hadn't been drafted. If only he hadn't been shipped off to 'Nam. If only those damn communists hadn't shot him down on the battlefield…

If only, if fucking only. Steve wanted to kill the entire world for all the 'if onlys' in life. It wasn't like the world wasn't already trying to kill him. It just…it wasn't fair…!

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Steve was startled out of his thoughts. He barely had enough time to reach a hand out and catch the penny that had been thrown at him. He stared at it for a long second, so small and cold in the palm of his hand. When Soda sat down next to him, Steve didn't look at him.

"Cheap bastard, gimme a dollar."

Soda laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, pal, it's all I can afford. Be happy I'm spending it on you instead of some loose broad."

"Well, unfortunately, my thoughts are too valuable." He pocketed the penny anyway. Seeing this, Soda muttered something under his breath about Steve being a cheap whore who didn't give him his money's worth. Steve's eyes narrowed, but he still didn't turn them upon his friend. "What was that?"

Soda grinned innocently, but Steve felt it more than he saw it. He kept staring straight ahead. "I said, won't you please tell me, pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"I'm allergic to cherries."

"Stop being such a smartass and just tell me, already."

Steve laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'm sure you can guess what a lot of it is," he replied. "In fact, you being gone…it's the root of everything that's going wrong right now. Ponyboy and Darry are both sick with missing you, and they're mad at the world. They're taking it out on each other, and they've been screaming themselves hoarse at each other over the stupidest things. I'm so sick of them going at it that I turn myself into a hypocrite and do the same. Two-Bit's still trying to be Two-Bit, bless the motherfucking jackass's heart, but he's been fighting a lot, too."

Soda wasn't smiling anymore. He was listening intently, his eyes getting sadder with every word. That was one of the good things about Soda: He talked when someone needed him to talk, and he listened when someone needed him to listen. He stayed silent as Steve sighed heavily, trying to gather his thoughts.

"I miss the way things used to be," Steve muttered. "I know I shouldn't be bellyaching 'cause I doubt I'm the only one who wishes it, but I just do."

The younger man sighed through tight lips, making his cheeks inflate a little. "I miss 'em too," he admitted quietly. "Nothing we can do about it now, though. Might as well not dwell on the subject, I guess." He was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "So how are you and Evie doing?" He grinned. "She finally let you take her out on a date?"

Steve laughed. Evie was a nice broad, much unlike him. She could be a spitfire, though, and whenever Steve did something that either made her angry or just morally outraged her, she canceled their upcoming date. In other words, every other day she canceled a date. They'd never had a single private date before Soda left. "Yeah, she let me take her out on a couple," he replied. "I'm just happy she hasn't dragged me all over the mall yet. Two-Bit keeps whining about Kathy 'cause of that."

"Oh, she will one day. Count on it. All girls do, at one point or another," Soda replied, but Steve could feel him grinning. Steve laughed a little, but it was an awkward, not-really-in-the-moment laugh, like there was something else on his mind that he wasn't quite sure how to say. Soda noticed this, and he said, "Hey, I paid good money to make you talk. You'd better not be holding back."

"Yeah," Steve grunted, raising his eyebrows. "All a man needs is a penny, and the whole world opens up before him.

Soda glared playfully, slapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, shut up," he said with a small smile. Then, he frowned again. "But, seriously, what's on your mind?"

Steve swallowed thickly, feeling himself shake. Soda rubbed his back comfortingly, watching his friend with sad eyes. "You know, Popeye," he said, using the nickname Soda had earned from all of his wondrously disastrous spinach recipes (the last of which being a spinach pancake…), "there's something I really oughtta say sorry for," Steve said, propping his elbow up on his knee and resting his chin on his hand. He stared forward. Unlike the others, Steve usually never had any emotions other than fury and typical, everyday insanity on his face. He never even let any of it touch his eyes. He wasn't like Dally - everyone knew he still had emotions. He just never showed it.

That was why Soda's heart fell to see the true guilt and sadness playing in his best friends eyes. "Anything, Steve," he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Couldn't have been that bad if I don't remember it, huh? I'm sure it's not so bad."

"But it is." Steve sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't been taking the time to comb it into those tuff little swirls for a while. He barely took the time to grease it up. His lack of dedication showed as dark straggles fell in his face, almost covering his eyes. "When you got back…man, they weren't willing to let me and Two-Bit in to see you, but life be damned if we didn't raise hell about it. 'Only family, only family,' they kept whining. Damn hospital lunatics. I gotta respect Darry and Pony, man, instead of just leaving me and Two-Bit for the vultures and getting to you, they fought for us. It wasn't till Pony yelled something about being orphans with no cousins or grandparents and shit like that that they finally realized, hey, this _is_ the kid's family.

"We all got in there real quick. Don't know why, none of us really wanted to see you like that. But we did. We all walked over to you real slow-like. None of us really showed any feelings, but I know I didn't because I felt numb. Then sick. Really, really sick. We finally got to you, and there you were…and there Pony wasn't. Kid just turned and ran right back out of there, despite everything he'd done to get us in. He was already screaming and crying. Darry followed him. I don't think he was running after him so much as he was running with him. To get away from you.

"And I…I just turned and walked out. Got to the nearest bathroom and puked my guts out. I couldn't go back to see you. Couldn't. I'm so sorry about that, man. I shouldn'ta left you. It was…it was just wrong."

Soda nodded slowly, understandingly. "I…I get that, I do. I don't blame any of you for the way you reacted. I mean, I would've, too."

"No, you wouldn't have. You'da stayed. You'da toughed it out. I guess you're like ol' Two-Bit in that fashion. I mean, Pone, Darry, and me were outta there quicker than Jack be nimble…but Two-Bit stayed. When I finally forced myself to go back in there, he was just sitting there beside you, talking so soft I couldn't hear him. He looked like he was crying, but I couldn't tell 'cause God knows I was crying too hard to see a damn thing. I guess he realized that you needed more comfort than we did right then."

"I remember that," Soda murmured, looking away from Steve to gaze up at the sky. "He was crying. Kinda scared me, 'cause I ain't never seen him cry before. I never knew ol' Two-Bit could be so gentle. Kept telling me how much you all missed me, how grateful he was that I actually came home instead of getting reported MIA, how scared I musta been but it was okay now, where I was no one could hurt me no more…"

Silence fell between the two childhood friends, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was unusual for them to be so quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry you got drafted," Steve whispered.

"So am I," Soda replied quietly.

"What does it feel like?" Steve asked suddenly, desperate to know.

Soda seemed to have been caught off-guard. He was silent for a long moment, then said, "Y'know, Steve, I ain't gonna lie to you. Hurt like hell, right at first. I wanted to scream so bad, but there was so much blood in my lungs and my throat that I couldn't, and that just scared me stiff. I was terrified. People were shooting and screaming, and bombs were going off. It was…I don't know what it was. It was madness.

"But then…then, I started feeling really detached, like none of it was real. One of my friends, Jenkins, started yelling and screaming at me to hold the fuck on, he'd be there in a fucking second, I couldn't fucking die on him. Wonderful vocabulary, that." Soda laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. "I found it funny that he was calling the communists Nazis. 'Fucking Nazis, don't you know that's my friend?' I didn't really know who he was at that time, I just knew he was a voice. When he got to me, I just knew he was a face. It was all real confusing.

"My mind got a little clearer, enough for me to grasp what was going on. We said a few things to each other, pretty insignificant and worthless, and you know what happened from there.

"As for what you're talking about…I don't quite know how to describe it. It just…it feels nice, I guess."

Steve nodded slowly, seeming to digest this information. "I wish the rest of the guys would see it like that, that you're in a better place. All they care about is that you're not here, though. Call them selfish. Hell, call me selfish, because I can't say that I'd rather have you there than here," he said.

"I'd rather be there than here," Soda replied. It was interesting, the way that sounded. It was like Soda saying he'd rather be gone…but, in truth, Steve's 'here' was Soda's 'there,' and vice versa.

Soda sighed, running a hand through his greasy locks. "You guys…you guys need to stop fighting. I mean, I know it's easier said than done…but, goddamn, Steve, you guys can't drive yourselves away from each other. I mean, sure, Two-Bit has a good family and Darry has a lot of friends, but when it comes down to it, you guys are all you got left. If you guys let petty things separate you…you're alone. You become like Dally: cold, angry as hell with the world for what it's done to you, and bound to die young.

"What bothers me most is that you're fighting because of me. I might not be around anymore, Steve, but one less guy in the gang doesn't mean there should be no gang. I'm sorry I can't be around anymore, I honestly am. I tried with everything I had to actually come back, but I'm where I am and that's just the way things are. That can't be helped now. But you guys…you guys still have all the chances in the world to fix what's going on."

Steve nodded. "I know. I think we all know that," he said quietly. He wrung his head, bowing his head. "It's just…it's a matter of getting the courage to actually do it," he added quietly, ashamed but desperate for Soda to understand.

"You're a brave man. Don't be going around making excuses for yourself," Soda replied. Steve felt his heart drop a little, but he couldn't blame his friend for saying it. He looked up from his lap. They both gazed at the sun, which was inching ever-closer to the horizon. It would be there in a matter of minutes.

The two were silent for a long time. After a moment, Soda stood. Though this caught Steve's attention, he still didn't look up. "Well, I have to get going. Places to be, you know." He began to walk away. Steve's mind remained blank for a moment, but suddenly something popped into his head, something he had to say.

"Soda?"

Soda stopped. Though Steve still didn't look directly at him, he saw his best friend look over his shoulder in his peripherals. "Yeah, Steve?" he asked.

Steve swallowed thickly. "When me and the rest of the gang went to see you in the hospital…" Slowly, he shook his head. "Goddamn, Popeye, you didn't belong in that morgue."

Soda was silent for a while, and for a moment Steve thought that he wasn't going to reply. "You know, a lot of us don't belong where we end up," the barely-seventeen-year-old said softly. Then, he added softly, like a kid who'd gone to the party and had had a lot of fun but ultimately had to go, "I'll be seeing you around, Steve."

"See you," Steve said hoarsely, his voice cracking.

He watched Soda's feet through his peripherals until they were gone. A sudden desperation grabbed at him, and he screamed, "Soda, wait!" Finally, he looked up…only to find himself staring up at the night sky. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, realizing that his back was flat against the cold stone of the bench. He pushed himself into a sitting position, running a hand through his greasy, straggly hair. He checked his wristwatch and saw that it was just past two a.m. The sun had set hours ago.

It had been a dream. Just a dream.

There was still the tension in his chest. Steve let out a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. There he'd gone, getting his britches in a twist all over a stupid dream. Of course. What an idiot he was.

Trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, Steve looked down at the vacant spot next to him on the bench. Something small caught the moonlight, reflecting and almost seeming to glow a bright white. Curious, Steve picked it up, only to see that it was a penny. His dark eyes widened. What the hell…?

Steve's mouth opened as if to say something, then closed again. Suddenly, he felt like crying. He closed a fist around the penny, then dropped it into his pocket with a murmur of, "Cheap bastard."


End file.
